


End of a Long Day

by WritingsOfAHobbit



Series: Thranduil/Reader Stories [11]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:02:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3494429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingsOfAHobbit/pseuds/WritingsOfAHobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt:</p>
            </blockquote>





	End of a Long Day

“Legolas, come here!” You shouted over the banisters. “Legolas!” Silence greeted you and you sighed. He was far too stubborn for a four year old. You head downstairs, muttering as you go. “Legolas? Come here this instant!” still, there is silence. You curse under your breath, wondering just where your son gets his stubbornness. It certainly wasn’t from you.

You traipse through the house, calling your son’s name. He’s not in the kitchen, he’s not in the dining room and he’s not in the pantry. Both the door to the garage and the door to the study are locked, and he didn’t go upstairs when you were waiting for him. The only place left for him to hide is the living room.

You close the two doors, one leading to the kitchen and one to the hallway, and settle down on the sofa. “Naughty boys don’t get sweets on Saturday.” You warn, glancing around the room.

It’s rare that Legolas puts up a fuss, so he rarely hides from you. There’s only a handful of places for him to hide in the room, and you don’t want to wait him out. The boy can be more patient than his father, and Thranduil has the patience of a Saint.

“Fee Fi Fo Fum…” you say quietly to yourself as you get to your feet and start to move around the room.

Legolas isn’t on the window seat behind the curtain, nor is he behind the sofas or the chairs. He isn’t under the coffee table and he isn’t behind the TV stand. There’s only one place left for him to be.

“Oh, if you’ve broken any of your grandmother’s china…” you warn, dropping into a crouch in front of the bookcase/display cabinet. You crack open one of the doors on the bottom, and Legolas comes tumbling out. “Now what were you doing in there?” You raise an eyebrow, scooping up your son.

“Waiting for daddy.”

You settle Legolas on your hip and kick the door closed. “Well he’s not in there.” You laugh, starting to make your way towards the stairs.

“No, mummy, no!” Legolas jerks so violently and so suddenly in your arms that you almost drop him.

“Legolas! What has gotten into you?” you scold, righting him and holding him just a little tighter.

"I want to see daddy." The little blonde boy pouts.

"You saw him this morning, remember?"

"Nuh uh. That doesn't count."

You don't have to ask your son why it doesn't count. Over the last few weeks Thranduil has been under a lot of stress. His business is growing well, but it means there's more work to do. He's been working long hours and has been home very little as a result. He comes home around 10pm, and leaves again at 7am. Whilst he's earning enough to pay the bills, put money into a college fund and take you all on holiday in a few months, he's hardly spent any time with you and Legolas. It's hard on you to see your husband so little, but it's even harder on your son.

You sigh. "Tell you what. If you go and get your duvet, I'll make us some hot chocolate and we'll stay up and wait for daddy."

Legolas squeals in delight and you set him down. He runs up the stairs and you make your way into the kitchen.

XX

It's nearing midnight by the time Thranduil pulls up, and his stress levels are through the roof. That morning, as he left for work, he'd upset his son when he told him he wouldn't be able to attend his sports day. The day had gone downhill from there.  Sickies and no-shows, coupled with the recent laying off of inadequate staff, resulted in far too much paperwork and not enough people to do it. Then the coffee machine broke, the printer/photocopier ran out of toner and there was none to be found in the building, and now a red light had appeared on the dashboard of the car. And it was only Tuesday.

Thranduil tries to not slam the car door, but it still closes too loudly for this time of the night. He mutters a string of curses under his breath as he stumbles up the front steps and shoulders open the door. All he wants is a glass of wine and bed. The apologising and grovelling he must do to Y/N can wait until the morning.

Y/N.... The very thought of her brings a small smile to his face.  The love of his life, the light of his heart, and the first centre of his world.  He never deserved such an amazing woman, but she had never looked twice at anyone other than him. Legolas wouldn't be here if it weren't for her, and he loved his son just as much as his wife.

But he has been absent too long. He is afraid if making the same mistake that his father had made: focusing too much if work and neglecting his family. Each day he sees Legolas a little less, and Y/N’s smile grew a little more forced. He has to rectify his actions and soon.

Thranduil kicks off his shoes, hangs up his coat and sets his briefcase down before making his way down the corridor to the kitchen. He pauses by the living room, a light frown gracing his features. Y/N _always_ turns off all of the lights, except for the kitchen one.  Never, not once in nearly seven years if marriage, has she left a light on.

One hand reaches for his mobile as the other reaches for the door handle. Carefully, quietly, he cracks open the door.

Thranduil's heart constricts a little in his chest at the sight that lies before him.  

The sofa has been converted into a bed, several dozen pillows and duvets piled onto the mattress. The title sequence of 'Finding Nemo' plays on repeat on the TV and two cups of cold hot chocolate sit on the coffee table. Nestled under the mound of duvets is Y/N and Legolas,  a stuffed Bambi toy wedged between them.

He stands in silence for a minute to savour the moment, before he is overcome by a wave of guilt. They had waited up for him and he has failed to return home at a decent hour.

Squashing the guilt and vowing to make it up to them, he sets about tidying up. He turns off the TV, puts away the three DVDs that are on the coffee table and then takes the cups through to the kitchen. He contemplates moving Legolas up to his bed, but he is so tightly wrapped in his mother's arms that it won't be possible.

Thranduil heads upstairs to shower and change, leaving his little boy where he is. He is sleeping, and that's all that matters.

When Thranduil has changed into his pyjamas he makes his way back downstairs to find two pairs of tired eyes staring out at him from under the duvet.

"Daddy!" Legolas yawns, wriggling from his mother's arms. Thranduil scoops him up, kissing his forehead tenderly.

"Feels like you're coming down with something." He sighs, seating himself on the bed.

"He is?" Y/N sits up quickly, worry replacing the sleep in your eyes.

"Mm hmm." Thranduil leans over and kisses his wife gently. "You might be to."

"But I feel fine!" She protests, pressing a hand to her forehead in concern.

"I'd say the two of you are both definitely ill. Legolas too ill to go to school and you too ill to look after him. I'll just have to take the day tomorrow to look after you both."

Y/N smiles slowly, realising what Thranduil means "Does that mean you're going to cook?"

Thranduil laughs, cupping her face in his hand before kissing her tenderly.  "We shall see, my love."

 


End file.
